The Art of the Panzer
by Thunderman88
Summary: Follow Chris Hanekawa and the Ocean's Blue Academy's team as they tackle the Sensha-Do Tournament; it might be the beginning of something new, but also the closing of something old. Not just a clash of tanks. A clash of philosophies. **COLLABORATION FIC WITH AMIR-015** Pairing : OCxDarjeeling


This is a collaboration fic between Amir-015 and me. We don't own any characters outside of our own OCs.

Chapter 1 : First Steps

The first sun rays that managed to clear the mountain ridge hit the enormous ship that was docked at the pier, an ancillary floating city to the one that was firmly planted on the mainland.

Most of the inhabitants were still sound asleep. For them, the day had not yet begun.

But for others, it was not only the day that was beginning. It was also the beginning of something much more important.

Especially to the group of young boys and girls that, on the big Academy ship, were standing on a field close to a quite impressive warehouse. About twenty, there was something peculiar about them; by looking carefully, one could guess that some were not quite Japanese.

And not quite Japanese was the adult standing before them, near the big shutter. A balding, muscular black man, he was wearing a worn out U.S. Army coat, and in his mouth a spent cigarette jerked around every time he spoke (or shouted, more appropriately).

"OK, now it's the day you'll show if you actually learned something of what I've been tryin' to teach ya! You all know your enemy, you know the plan, stick to it; and show them how we do business around here!"

His booming voice echoed between the building as he glared at them. Then he looked down at a boy that was in first line. "Hanekawa, you're up! Time for the commander's speech!" he said, gesturing eloquently with his thumb.

The subject looked back at him, then stepped forwards and turned towards his companion. The rising sun made his blonde hair, trimmed almost to perfection, even more fair than usual; his cyan eyes and the facial expression, everything about him gave an impression of resolution.

He began to speak, clearly and meaningfully : "Today we will fight our first battle. We have prepared for this; our opponent is formidable, but we have quite a good hand to play. So, let's fight fair and square, and do our best!" After a pause to let his eyes wander on his listeners, he added : "Did I make myself clear!"

"Loud and clear, Chris!" was the casual response of the boy who had been standing at his right in the line. He even gave a thumbs-up, together with a broad smile.

"Glad to know!" the one named Chris muttered, his mouth not even trembling. "Ok, let's get into our tanks and move out!"

All the twenty youngsters followed him as he disappeared inside of the warehouse. One minutes later, the sound of engines coughing to life filled the whole field, and soon, one after another, five tanks rolled out and began marching down the road.

Leading them, was a Comet I cruiser tank, a late-war British vehicle that had come too late to prove its worth against German armor. Its speed made it a worthy successor to the early cruisers that had served the King, but its protection and its 77 mm gun gave it a punch not to be underestimated. From the top hatch Chris himself was standing, seemingly lost in thought.

Then came the much smaller frame of a Soviet BT-7M, the epitome of the Russian-made cavalry tanks; his curve and sleek hull seemed to showcase both his agility and his vulnerability to enemy attacks, and from the turret the 45 mm high-velocity gun seemed eager to begin firing, even though only early or light tanks would have suffered from its shells. Its diminutive size was augmented by the absurd height of the gigantic boy whose frame emerged by more than half from the top.

The next vehicle was quite different : a medium-sized gray self-propelled gun, it was obviously German in origin. The low height and the gradual curvature of the hull could deceive an observer, but one look at the gun would betray its true name. It was a StuH 42, a variant of the much more common StuG III tank destroyer, with a 105 mm howitzer valuable to deal with infantry. Proudly showing off from the hatch, the boy who had answered Chris earlier was clearly enjoying himself.

A Sherman Firefly next came up. On the familiar and common hull and tracks of the M4 Sherman, a different turret and the out of proportion barrel of the 17-Pounder Gun betrayed its role as a dedicated tank killer, being quite effective in this particular role despite being a hurried project. An expert could have looked, from a myriad of small details scattered everywhere, that it was quite an experienced tank, bearing lots of marks of many old and forgotten battles. From its dark green turret the much smaller frame of a girl was standing, as solid as steel however.

Last in this motley array, the end tank was similar, yet different. And it was hardly surprising, since it was a Grizzly cruiser tank, the often forgotten Canadian little brother of the omnipresent Sherman. Its suspension gave it away, and the markings too. The most important difference, its thicker and more sloped armour, was not so easy to fathom. The armament, however, was the same as its more famous counterpart, an average 75 mm gun. The commander's hatch revealed a relatively small girl with blonde eyes, which seemed to be very busy scribbling something down a piece of paper.

The curious column went through the city, curiously eyed by the early risers. It then took a road that brought them towards the hills. It finally stopped, when the sun had risen conveniently, on a large grass field, from which the sea already seemed distant.

At some distance from them, five other tanks were waiting for them. The middle one was a British Black Prince prototype infantry tank, its bulky and square figure surrounded by two Matilda II tanks on each side, the perfect lineup to get a homogeneous and fearsome defense.

Their spotless and polished appearance was matched by their crews, all lined up before their respective vehicles, and all made up by girls in a red and black uniform.

After dismounting from the tank, Chris eyed the scene (whose aesthetic care was in its own way threatening, besides the quite real threat of the British tanks) with what seemed an approving look, then started to stride through the grass towards them. A blonde girl whose hair was carefully combed into a bun did the same.

As they met halfway, their eyes met each other. And for a split second, it seemed that a brief yet intense battle had been fought, between those glares.

Then, Chris gave a short bow, and spoke first (the proper thing to do for him, being the challenger, and his team being rather new). "I wish to convey my gratitude to you, Miss Darjeeling, for having accepted our challenge. It's quite a honour."

The girl returned the challenge, and replied with the same politeness : "Thank you, Mr. Hanekawa; we appreciate any chance to practice further, so perhaps we should be the ones to be grateful."

Her clear eyes wandered on the tanks lined up behind Chris, and her smile was covered by her hand. "I must say... this is quite an interesting lineup you have there!"

His voice as neutral as before, Chris just said : "Allow me to affirm that our tanks might be even more interesting when faced in battle!"

Again, their gazes met, and this time there was a more evident approval in both, perhaps stimulated by the refined way in which she had cast her doubts on such a ragtag array of vehicles, and in which he had dared her to prove herself right with her actions.

Interrupting the match before the match, a tall woman, which emanated the same British aura as Darjeeling (which was understandable, as she was her instructor), came over to them, and announced formally : "The friendly match between Ocean's Blue Academy and St. Gloriana Girls High School is about to begin!" Laying down a stern gaze, she ordered : "Now bow!"

Chris and Darjeeling bowed again, and then nodded at each other.

"Good luck to you!" he offered.

"And to you." she answered.

The commander then turned back and returned to his tanks, where the crews were nervously waiting to move out. All except Heinrich, of course, who, with calculated carelessness, casually exclaimed : "You know, seen from here, I couldn't tell if that was a salute or a social call!"

Barely gratifying his friend with a glare, Chris merely ordered : "Everyone in the tanks! We are game!"

/

Some minutes later, after both teams had reached the appropriate positions, the judges signalled the start of the friendly match by shooting a bengal light. Immediately, all five OB tanks began rolling forwards.

While his eyes were glued to the small openings in the commander's cupola, Chris said through the radio's microphone : "Very well, listen up. As planned before, we shall take up position in Grid 4-E; the StuH will act as decoy to bait the enemy towards us. They will be vulnerable as we will hold the high ground, but we'll have trouble penetrating their frontal armour. To take them out, we'll have to aim carefully, so don't just blast away and keep your calm. Is that clear?"

An irritated answer came from the Firefly : "Yes, it's clear. As it was ten times before!" Chris rolled his eyes : while Lina and Mayu Oba (respectively the commander and the gunner of the British tank) were at a somewhat higher level in getting the hang of Sensha-Do, they tended to point out a lot that they didn't approve of a boy riding a tank, much less commanding a whole team.

That was the only incident, however, before they separated from Heinrich, who steered left to take up his role as bait, and climbed up towards the small plateau that dominated the narrow gulch that lead to it; another gap in the rocks allowed for a retreat, if things went south.

As soon as the engine stopped roaring, Chris stood up through the hatch; everything was alright, the firing arc of their guns was very good, at the sides were stationed their weakest tanks (the BT-7M, whose gun was unfortunately inadequate against such armoured foes, and the Grizzly, again with insufficient firepower), to cover their heaviest hitters in the case St. Gloriana managed to climb their way up there.

The other commanders followed his example; Lina, a quite beautiful, dark-haired girl whose determination was proportional to her scowl, barely acknowledged him, as she folded her arms and looked straight ahead. The tall boy who emerged from the Russian cavalry tank, a quite typical Russian fellow named Boris Petrovski, merely nodded solemnly, an expecting look all over his face. The girl who commanded the Grizzly, a ditz by the name of Yui Hirasawa who was with her crew in the Light Music Club and got sidetracked waay too easily, didn't even notice him, just writing down at an improbable rhythm, stopping only to hum briefly and intermittently.

No sound interrupted their wait, until the radio suddenly began talking. "StuH to command tank! We have their attention... most definitely!" said a cheeky voice, while some sounds in the background could be interpreted as near-misses. "We are leading them straight to you! In three minutes we'll reach Grid 4-E! Over!"

Chris's jaw went firmer than ever. "Roger." he acknowledged on the microphone. Then, straightening up, his voice rose as he commanded : "The enemy will be here in a few minutes! Let's prepare!"

The atmosphere reached another level of excitement, as eyes hurriedly went to the lenses, and fingers nervously caressed the triggers.

It was in those moments that, to everyone who did such things, it seemed that the air became even hotter, and the constrained spaces even smaller, as they anxiously waited for the enemy to come at last.

What came first was Heinrich's tank, saluted by explosions that could only be St. Gloriana's fire. It climbed uphill, and was almost on the top when, through the cupola, Chris saw the Black Prince, leading the enemy attack. He waited one heartbeat, and then, holding the microphone close to his mouth, simply said : "Fire!"

Four flames erupted, and four shells screamed through the air, shaking the rushing British tanks. But they did not stop. And neither did they stop when they reached the foot of the plateau, where they separated to climb the hill in both directions.

By then, it was clear to Chris that the ambush was failing; his tanks' nervous shots either didn't hit the enemy, or ricocheted on the frontal armour that the St. Gloriana's girls carefully kept oriented towards them, frustrating their efforts. And the very nature of the terrain didn't allow the StuH 42, whose 105 mm High-Explosive shell could have caused damage to the enemy or its tracks, a clear shot.

"Command tank. Try to hit their tracks! If we cripple them, we might pull it off!" he barked in an odd calm way, as the infantry tanks were reaching the plateau.

But still, Ocean's Blue aim was not as good as it should have been; and when the enemy began returning fire with their 2-Pounders and 77 mm High-Velocity gun, it became even less accurate. Typical, thought Chris grimly; an untested soldier, having never been under fire, will always hesitate. And hesitation was something they couldn't afford at present.

The voices in the radio began to turn more and more scared. The tanks on the sides were backing up a little, instinctively trying to distance themselves to the relentless foe.

Suddenly, the small BT-7 seemed to jump up, as if jolted by something, and then landed again with a clang; after a second, a white flag sprouted from the turret.

"BT-7 to Command Tank. We have been defeated." came the laconic and apologetic announcement over the radio. Chris' eyes narrowed a bit, as he gave the reply : "Roger that. It's not your fault, Boris!"

Another explosion echoed amongst the rocks; this time it was the Sherman Firefly that had bought it. Panicked and confused, its crew had unwillingly exposed its side, a mistake that the Black Prince had not missed.

"Firefly here! We are out! Sorry!" This was the first time Lina didn't sound miffed at all.

"Chris, this is getting too hot for my liking! Any orders?" Heinrich, however, had lost only a small bit of his sass, as the assault gun kept bellowing shells on the enemy, keeping them at a convenient distance.

"What do we do? We're going to be destroyed!" was all that was coming from Yui and the Grizzly.

For a moment, their commander pondered. He had always had his doubts that the ambush would be a success; he had been perfectly aware of the fact that his team, green as a team could be, wouldn't be the well-functioning war machine that would warrant a fair chance of success. And he hadn't made the mistake of throwing his lot on just that plan.

In the space of just two hearbeats, he made up his mind, and took up the microphone again. "All teams, listen up. We're going to disengage, and retreat towards Grids 6-2 and 6-3; since this ambush failed, we'll have to force them to split up and lose their respective cover! Formation three, on the double!" His tone, while serious, didn't betray even an ounce of nervousness; while determined and with his brains in full swing, there was no trace of nervousness in him.

As soon as the three surviving teams acknowledged the order, they quickly pulled back and sped through the gap at maximum speed; St. Gloriana quickly followed, but with their heavy protection they couldn't compete on speed with them, so they gradually lost ground, while their fire harmlessly lifted clouds of dust and gravel.

As the woods became closer, Chris quickly specified the positions in which the StuH and the Grizzly would have to hide and wait for the enemy to come; he reaffirmed the importance of waiting for the enemy to come closer, before firing and blowing the cover, as they couldn't allow any more errors.

The tanks parted ways, and Chris carefully selected a place where a gigantic fallen tree would provide an ideal cover, as long as they remained still; as the biggest of OB's tanks, the Comet would be quite a target even in such difficult terrain, and he had no intention of becoming target practice for any Churchill or Matilda.

After ordering to slow down the engine, to reduce its noise, he climbed out of the turret and carefully peeked above the trunk. As he expected, the trees and the undergrowth were not thick enough to hinder his sight; taking a slow glance through his trusty binoculars, he made out the five infantry tanks making their way towards them.

Chris waited, and his patience was rewarded : after a brief hesitation (or so it seemed), each tank went a different direction, logically taking their chances in the wood, where mutual support at close distance was nigh to impossible. He nodded his approval, and went down on his seat in the turret.

"Back down slowly!" he ordered, and the cruiser tank went gently back a little, until he signalled to stop. From his cupola, he could observe three of the enemy tanks. As he thought, the Churchill had taken the middle, and was laboriously advancing.

Suddenly, on the right, a boom echoed, and the radio sparked to life with a cheer. "Grizzly to Command Tank, we got a Matilda! Right in the back, it's out for good!"

Echoing the same feelings that could be made up on his crew's faces, Chris gave a small smile, nodding. "Well done. Try to regain cover, while..."

Another sharp sound, and this time the wireless transmitted disappointment. "Awww! We got taken out! We're sorry!"

His face now back to normal, the commander didn't lose his focus. "Acknowledged." he commented.

On the opposite side, where the ridge descended more gently, the birds suddenly bolted, and some movement could be made out. Sign that someone was on the move, but Chris couldn't see what it was.

After some seconds, two other explosions rocked the air, almost at the same time, and one much bigger than the other. He understood at once, and already knew what the radio would transmit now.

"Heinrich here. I think we just got a double KO, this is the end for us!"

Now the faces of the gunner and the loader showed resignation. And Chris could hardly blame them : while the enemy had finally taken some losses, it still had three tanks (including its most powerful one), while they were all alone. It was an extremely tight spot.

But he wasn't prepared to give up; the situation was dire, but it wasn't a death sentence until he got taken out. Victory was still a possibility, if they played their cards right.

Leaning forwards, Chris began : "All right, we can still do it. We are one against three, but we are not finished yet; we can still take them out and get a victory out of this mess!"

He looked at the gunner. "I'll need you to be way more precise than you have been till now! When you shoot, you'll hit the jackpot, understood!" The poor boy seemed quite lost, but nevertheless he gulped and nodded slowly, trying to regain his composure.

Chris turned to the loader. "You'll have to beat all the records now. If we are to get out of this, we'll have to shoot faster than them; destroy them before they can do the same to us. Put some muscle on it, and show them your might!" The answer was pretty much the same.

He straightened up again, glancing at the remaining enemies who were closing in. "Target... the Matilda at one o'clock! We'll go past him and then dive for cover in the bushes!" The driver, a girl so small a flea could knock her over, nervously nodded, clutching the levers.

Three heartbeats later, after a last visual sweep of the situation, Chris pumped his fist and roared : "Now!"

The Comet answered immediately, its Meteor engine blazing with power. Darting from its hiding spot, it went right towards the opponent's infantry tank, as if trying to ram; its crew panicked and fired its gun, but the 40 mm shell merely bounced. With all the desperation he could muster, the driver pulled at the levers, managing to steer the cruiser tank so that it went past the shocked Matilda. And, at that impossible distance, the 77 mm gun easily blasted its way through the weaker side armour.

Without wasting a second, they plunged in the thickest part of the woods, momentarily finding a refuge, but the tank didn't stop. Sharply turning to the right (and Chris was forced to hold on to something, to avoid some unwelcome bruises), the tracks bit the ground as the tank again accelerated at a rate that no St. Gloriana tank could match.

Taking advantage of the slow turret traverse speed of the Black Prince (whose gun could end the riddance anytime, if it hit them), they skirted the open ground as they zeroed in on their next target, the last Matilda. This one, the surprise being gone, carefully reversed to get a better view, and its gun hesitated, evidently trying to aim at a weak spot in the front.

"Fire!" Chris ordered again, as smoke poured into the turret together with the spent shell. And he nodded vigorously, when another flag told him they had eliminated the second to last enemy.

"Now it's the Black Prince! Look lively, down there!" A cheer was the answer, but it was cut short when the turret shook. An unfriendly shell had barely missed its mark.

Now the battle was grinding to a stalemate; the Comet had the upper hand regarding manoeuvrability, but the Black Prince's crew was obviously the very best that the opponent had to offer; and Chris deemed that trying the same tactic, which meant exposing his tank to a devastating point-blank shot, was too risky. Yet, trying to go around it the long way would give them plenty of time to turn in place and cover its weaker armour again.

Its crew began to wonder if Chris would decide to cut the chase and make a run for it anyway; instead, he seemed content of playing with time. And he seemed to be aware of their thoughts, as he suddenly proclaimed : "This is hardly ideal ground, and they're heavier than us; with a little luck, they are going to get bogged down!"

There was no time to reply to that, as shells kept pouring from the two artillery pieces. And this time around it was their enemy that had the advantage, forcing them to hit and then move to avoid counterfire.

Then, luck was on their side; trying to aim at the gun, the gunner instead landed a shell in the turret ring, as Chris guessed after a moment, when he saw the Black Prince stop, and then start to go in reverse.

Even before his order came, he saw another thing that made him understand that Darjeeling was now in a dire situation herself; reversing, the heavy tank's weight had proven too much for a big puddle of mud, and now the mighty beast was now stuck, its tracks spinning around uselessly.

/

"We are doomed!" Orange Pekoe breathed, as both her and Assam imagined (they couldn't see it) the nearing Comet, eager to capitalize on their misfortune and to reap victory.

Darjeeling didn't answer, as she looked on to the Ocean's Blue tank approaching their rear, where one shot would end the match for good. When she set down her teacup on its small plate, her crew didn't miss the detail that it was slightly trembling.

The British cruiser tank stopped, now so close not even a blind person could miss such a shot. From the top hatch, the head of the commander, the boy named Chris, appeared.

Expecting to see him nod or perhaps salute her before giving the order to fire, Darjeeling was quite surprised to see instead a look of wavering uncertainty on his face, his brow furrowed in a way that could only denote distress, although she couldn't absolutely understand the reason.

A second passed, quickly yet slowly, and very much painfully.

"What are you waiting for...?" St. Gloriana's commander whispered incredulously.

Another second, and it seemed that the confusion had ended. Chris's head shot up, his jaw firmly set, and his eyes blazing.

He breathed deeply.

/

_Amir-015 and I would like to have a beta reader to give us an opinion on Chapter 2 and even the other forthcoming chapters. If anyone is willing to do that, he's welcome to contact us._


End file.
